


Psyche

by darkbrokenreaper



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Domestic, Godstiel: Castiel is sorta a god, Greek Mythology - Freeform, M/M, Virgin Sacrifice
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-13
Updated: 2013-10-13
Packaged: 2017-12-29 06:44:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1002207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkbrokenreaper/pseuds/darkbrokenreaper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Everyone knows the Winchester/Milligan boys. " Every few years or so, their little town offers a bride to the god that protects the land and this year, Dean is Chosen. Castiel normally doesn't pay mind to these happenings but the new human intrigues him. Based of the myth of Psyche and Cupid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Psyche

Everyone knows the Winchester/Milligan boys. They know how poor Sam and Dean’s mother died in a fire while their father saved them from the flames. They heard all about the downward spiral of John Winchester: his drinking problems, his remarriage to Kate Milligan years later, and the birth of the Milligan boy. And they certainly know about Kate and John’s deaths, leaving poor Adam to live with his brothers whom he hardly knows.  
  
They don’t know jack shit, Dean thinks bitterly when his name emerges from the lottery. A sea of eyes turn to him as his heart drops to the pit of his stomach and his mouth dries. He is still as stone and doesn’t move even as the fierce whispers begin.  
  
And then Adam and Sam let out simultaneous shouts of “DEAN!” as he is bodily secured and made to kneel on the ground between two burly ‘acolytes’. They force his head down in submission as Adam and Sam run to him.  
  
“Let me go!” Dean insists frantically, yanking his arms away. “Let me say good bye to my family damn it! Give me that at least!”  
  
The guards reluctantly let go of him as Adam collides into his chest, knocking the air out of him. His small arms barely encompass the entirety of Dean’s middle but Dean hugs him back tightly just the same.  
  
“Don’t go, Dean,” Adam sobs, clutching at the hem of his shirt. “Don’t leave us here.”  
  
He can see Sam behind Adam, manfully holding back his tears as his hands ball into fists at his side. His goofy brother with his awkward limbs has his head held high, his chin thrust up obstinately. He’s trying to be brave in front of Adam which Dean is thankful for. That’s his little brother, he thinks affectionately. Dean hugs Adam and gently loosens his baby brother's hands around the material. Adam makes a sound of protest and tries to reach for Dean again but blocks his hand.  
  
“It’s gonna be alright, Adam,” Dean whispers gently to the boy. “Uncle Bobby and Sammy are gonna make sure you go to bed on time and eat your vegetables. They’re gonna take good care of you so just remember to behave okay?” He looks up at Sam.  
  
“You’re the man of the house now,” Dean tells him, while reaching to touch his palm against Sam’s palm. “Keep watch over Adam and make sure he doesn’t get into any trouble. Be strong for me Sam.”  
  
His brother nods once. He wants to say more but there is a hand on his shoulder, yanking him up.  
  
The priest and his attendants pull him away while Adam cries out for him. His baby brother tries running for him but Sam holds him back.  
  
He’s led into the town hall where they strip him of his clothing and begin the ritualistic cleansing.  
  
They scrub his skin until it is pink and raw, and then powder his body with something sweet that smells strongly of honey and milk. It burns his scrubbed tender skin something fierce but he bites his tongue as a priest mumbles prayers over him while they dress him in a diaphanous robe and veil, and decorate him with gold jewelry and cream flowers. Charms are tucked into his sash and strands of pearly beads obviously crafted by a master’s hand are woven into the veil and robe. If Adam and Sam saw him now, he thought with a wry smile, they would be laughing their asses off and calling him a girl. The thought sends a pang through his heart and he shakes his head as if shaking himself out of the need to run back to his brothers. Escape is not an option. They would just find him again or choose one of his brothers next.  
  
The cleansing is long and boring which leaves Dean to contemplate his situation. He knows about the lottery, had known since he was old enough to talk that every few years a bride is summoned to offer themselves for the lord of the land. Every child is taught that the god of the land watches over their town and ensures a prosperous living if they present a bride whenever the god deems it necessary. They are taught that it is an honor to be chosen and that the family of child chosen is rewarded especially well. Dean doesn’t believe in a god who needs brides every few years but no one questions it even though the brides are never seen again. Their town is one of the few left that can stand on its own two legs though they are not well off in any sense of the word.  
  
“You are ready,” the priest ends his litany and steps forward to take his hand and lead him into the procession. The townspeople stand around, dressed in their best clothing, which is not saying much, and smiles painted on their faces. They thank him heartily and offer a bridal gift (usually a small trinket which is all that they can afford) but he can see past their smiles; they are glad that he was chosen and not their own children.  
  
He stares into the sympathetic eyes of his attendants. They pity him but would not trade places with him if given the choice.  
  
The procession is slow, uphill to a cliff on the edge of their small town. His feet burn. It begins to rain. An umbrella keeps his veil relatively dry but at the end, his feet and legs are covered in mud. The townies ignore it.  
  
He steps onto the platform and under the arch where an officiator from one of the big cities is waiting. His name is Zachariah or something and he smiles smarmily at Dean. Dean bares his teeth in return.  
  
“Citizens, citizens!” Zachariah announced loftily. “We are gathered here today to witness the union of this lovely youth and our beloved lord of the land.”  
  
The townies cheer as he pulls at the voluminous folds of his robes and maneuvers himself to the edge. He hears a loud sob in the back and another unfamiliar voice violently shushing him. Dean knows it is Adam and he raises his head, opens his eyes.  
  
He stares at his imminent death in the eye as Zachariah continues his pompous speech. His brothers and the townies are watching him and he would be damned if he showed any sign of weakness. It ends when Zachariah jerks his hands behind him and trusses them in red silk like a Thanksgiving turkey. It is the symbolic hand fastening, meant to bind two souls together but for Dean it seals his fate.  
  
His robe lands around his feet in a wet heap. Dean stares absently at the drop with glassy green eyes. A heavy fog distorts the bottomless pit; he cannot tell how much of a drop it is. Dean feels distant from himself, as if he were watching his body from the safe confines of his mind. The officiator behind him coughs pointedly and gives him a prod on his back. His slippers toss a few pieces of rubble over the edge and he shoots the man a nasty glare.  
  
“It’ll be just like sleeping,” he tries to console himself as his feet toe off the edge. Dean is not afraid to die.  
  
He tilts his head up toward the sky, stares at the bleak grey, and then jumps. The last thing he hears is Adam screaming but he focuses on the sky, closes his eyes.  
  
\--  
  
Mortals, Castiel thinks, are fools.  
  
He watches peripherally from his window as they offer up another child from their town for him. He doesn’t understand how they got the notion that he wanted a nubile youth every so often for his blessing. Any good tiding they receive from him is because of his duty to his part of the kingdom.  
  
He reaches out lazily to see what they’ve offered him this time. It’s a male this time, with green eyes that stare defiantly at him. Oh, this is new. Castiel is used to fear and he is used to prayers for salvation. He is also used to the defiance against their own pitiful deaths that some of the braver ones show. But this boy’s soul shines like a beacon on the craggy cliff side. He cares not about his own life, whether he lives or he dies, but he cares about the lives of his brothers and that they will not be made to share the same fate.  
  
Despite himself, Castiel is interested and watches as the boy jumps. He motions to one of his servants to go save the boy and bring him here. The spirit bows and becomes the wind to carry the boy to safety. Castiel decides that he is going to keep this one.  
  
\--  
  
Dean wakes up later which surprises him; he did not expect to wake up. He stares at his surroundings, a meadow of beautiful magnolia trees in full bloom, their lush branches reaching out towards him, beckoning him down the road. He is leaning against one of them, a bed of freshly fallen petals. His shoes have been removed and his feet cleaned which is odd but then again, he’s alive which is odd too. His robe is also cut, the filth done away with. The hem is now above his knees and the robe is made less voluminous with a red silk sash. His sleeves are still long and his veil is still attached to his head. He reaches up and rips the damned thing to pieces before throwing them on ground.  
  
“Hello?" Dean shouts, standing up. “Anybody out there?”  
  
No one answers him, not that Dean was expecting an answer. He blinks away the bright light and follows a path of fallen petals. They are soft underfoot like a rug. He comes upon a palace that seems to gleam with the morning sun and knocks on the double doors. No one answers but the doors swing open.  
  
“Okay…” Dean mutters and hesitantly steps in. He’s seen every cheesy horror flick out there and he knows he’s committing one of the most cliché movie tropes but there seems to be no one in.  
  
“Welcome, mortal master,” several sibilant voices greet him. Dean jumps and his eyes dart to several figures fluttering toward him. They are humanoid in appearance, though their eyes are snake like, and they fly like wind spirits, white robes trailing behind them.  
  
“What the hell?” Dean murmurs, back away slowly as they advance.  
  
“Do not be afraid.” They chime, swirling around him and bowing low in front of him. “We are here to serve you, beloved one.”  
  
“Come with us, mortal majesty,” a wind spirit ushers him forward with a burst of wind. “Rest and regain your strength.”  
  
They lead him to a room covered in tasteful tapestries and plush carpets. In the center of the room lies a mound of pillows large enough that Dean bounces a bit when the wind spirits push him down and begin to ply him with drink and nourishment.  
  
“I take it this is the house of the god then,” Dean comments as various delicacies are pushed in front of him. There are trays of succulent meats and cheeses, bowls of colorful fruit ices, and platters piled high with hearty bread and creamy churned butter but Dean has no appetite for them. So there is a god and the townies weren’t all fanatic nutters shoving innocent youths to their deaths. It should freak him out but all Dean can think about are his brothers and how to get out of here. He needs to find out where he is first.  
  
“Yes,” they hiss fluttering around him, tsking when they brush against his robe’s shortened edge. “We serve the god of the land.”  
  
“Where are we exactly?” Dean questions, He looks up, directly in the face of a wind creature. Its features are fey-like in nature and the thing smiles toothily before offering an olive which Dean shakes his head to.  
  
“Paradise,” they chorus. “Mortal master is in paradise. Rest and be assured for you are blessed with his grace.”  
  
Dean snorts sarcastically but covers it up as a cough. The beings don’t seem to notice and continue to lavish him with gifts of food and spirits. He declines them all but more exotic fare is shoved in his face in the hopes of getting him to eat.  
  
“When do I get to meet this god of yours?” he asks.  
  
“Tonight,” they sing rapturously, as if excited by the mere thought. “Tonight, mortal lord meets our god.”  
  
And then the creatures begin ripping his robe off which makes Dean yelp.  
  
“Mortal master must be prepared for our lord,” they insist when Dean tugs at a piece of cloth covering his more intimate parts. “Mortal master must look pretty for our lord.”  
  
“Like hell I’m gonna do that!” Dean protests. “I’m not some girl!”  
  
They hiss all of a sudden and before Dean can move to defend himself, he is wrapped in a miniature cyclone. His clothes are removed and he is exposed to the cold air.  
  
They move him around as if he were a doll, buffeting him this way and that into a bathroom that could fit his entire house. The gold accents on the tub alone seem to be worth more than his yearly income.  
  
They cleanse him, much gentler than the priests in his town did, and they perfume him with a spicy musky scent that Dean finds much more appealing than the cloying sweet scent he was dusted with at the beginning of the day. He’s put into a robe more sumptuous than his wedding garb but he puts his foot down on the sheer veil decorated with lace they present him with. He has already entertained his town and that smarmy bastard Zachariah. There is no need for further humiliation at the hands of these creatures.  
  
He’s led back to the same room and there is a table laid out in front of the pillows. A feast more opulent than the fare they offered him when he arrived is spread out on it and they escort him back to his seat.  
  
Dean partakes in the feast laid out before him, much to the joy of the wind servants. No need to starve himself; he’s going to need the energy to escape later on if the god proves to be fickle. They dance around him in graceful arcs and sing songs about his arrival to their kingdom. He is entranced by the performance that he doesn’t realize it has become night until they come to a stop and tell him that is going to meet the master.  
  
They shepherd him into a room devoid of any light. Dean can make out a bed and a few stands before he’s basically shoved into the room.  
  
“Can anyone here flip a switch?” Dean jokes, mostly to hide the slight tremor in his voice.  
  
“The master requires darkness,” the wind whispers. “Tonight he will come for you and claim you as his bride.”  
  
Dean wheels around in panic when the door shuts on him and plunges him in total darkness. He tries to pull it open but it won’t budge to his frustration. Son of a bitch. He is well and truly fucked.  
  
The irony in that statement doesn’t escape him. He is in the house of his new husband on their “wedding night”. The implications send a shudder down Dean’s spine.  
  
Dean walks the perimeter of the room, one hand on the wall to lead him and the other to feel around for another door or some way to lead him out. There is nothing, not even a curtain for a window or a grate for a fireplace. He feels his way around shelves of books and a mantle but he doesn’t find a lamp or a candle or anything to light the room with. Ambling toward the middle, his knees hit a corner and he falls onto the bed he saw earlier before they shut the door on him. Dean pulls himself up and doesn’t move as he contemplates the shitty hand he’s been dealt.  
  
He doesn’t even know what the god looks like. Some say that he has three heads and a body studded with demonic eyes that freeze anyone who looks into them into stone. Others whisper that the god is a brilliant handsome being with a sensual body and a wicked smile that lure young maidens to his arms. No one knows for sure since none of the brides ever come back.  
  
“Hello, Dean Winchester,” a voice behind him whispers.


End file.
